


Second First Kiss

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Season 1, Wincest - Freeform, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime in season 1, Sam and Dean go stargazing. Well, Sam goes stargazing while Dean is Samgazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second First Kiss

Sam’s jammed up against the door with his nose buried in his Treo, been like that for miles now. Dean can’t stop glancing over, side-eyeing his brother all framed by blue-white phone light and the occasional smattering of yellow from passing cars, from overhead lights. Dean’s only got one hand gripping the wheel; the other is slung out over the back of the seat, stretched towards Sam and he didn’t even realise he was doing it, their old code. Sam hasn’t reciprocated in a long time but he _remembers_ , Dean knows that, remembers what it means when Dean sits like this or leaves the bathroom door open just a crack while he’s showering or orders a milkshake and asks for two straws. Impossible to miss all those things and they haven’t _talked_ about it so Dean is starting to get used to the heavy feeling of rejection that settles in his stomach but he isn’t going to stop _trying_ either.

Still, he’s a little surprised when Sam snaps his head up all of a sudden, cranes around to look at the sky and says, “Should be an outlook in a mile or two, can you pull off?”

Dean shrugs, brow creasing, asking, “Yeah, why?”

Sam gets this little smile, shuffling away from the door and nearly into Dean’s outstretched arm. He looks too long at Dean, long enough that it makes Dean’s palms itchy, makes him want to stretch his arm out further and sling it around Sam and bring him in close but he doesn’t, he keeps his eyes on the road and ignores the twitch in his dick when Sam full on smiles and says, “You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re parked in a clearing marked as ‘Scenic Outlook #31’, and Sam gets out of the car first, cranes his long neck up to the sky so his mouth slacks open and Dean scrambles out after him, staring at his brother rather than the heavens. Sam points and Dean follows his gaze after a second, and okay, it _is_ gorgeous. It’s a meteor shower, fully visible because there are no lights anywhere near the place, no clouds, just clear perfect sky and lights streaking across stars and the moon set up high and half-full among all of it. Dean sighs out, “Wow,” and backs up so he can sit on the hood of the car.

Sam joins him, sits close enough that their shoulders touch, that their thighs jam together and he doesn’t make a move to change it. Dean doesn’t ask how he knew about this or why he thought it was a good idea or why _now_ he’s decided it’s okay to sit so close like they used to. Dean’s only half paying attention to the tumbling lights; more engaging than all the natural beauty in the world is Sam watching, eyes alight with wonder and happiness, neck long and throat tight, blinking slow up at the sky.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” He asks Dean, voice a little strained from the angle.

Dean doesn’t answer right away because he’s answering a different question in his mind. Eventually, just as strained, he blurts out, “Yeah, Sammy,” and Sam knows, drops his eyes to the grass in the clearing and licks his lips, blinks fast, all nervous before he looks at Dean again.

Dean swallows hard, can’t look away, gaze trapped and fluttering from Sam’s hazel eyes under dark lashes to the blush rising in his cheeks to the spit-shiny place where he licked his bottom lip and then back up again. He wants to say something, maybe it’s an apology or maybe it’s closer to a plea but when Sam shifts just a touch, raises his arm aimless and searching, Dean swallows every word, everything but a ragged question of, “Sammy?”

Everything goes fast and slow, Sam’s searching hand sliding around Dean’s neck, cool fingertips raising goosebumps while his thumb drifts aimless along Dean’s jaw. Sam moves in close so their foreheads touch, so his bangs tickle at Dean’s hairline, and Dean blinks owlish, eyes indecisive between Sam’s cool hazel and his lips again. And Sam moves first, tilting his head _just so_ , his thumb pressing against Dean’s chin as his lips cover his brother’s and press too, soft and warm and they don’t move and Dean’s eyes close in a lashy flutter.

He doesn’t open them until it’s cold, until Sam pulls away and jams his face into Dean’s shoulder, clutching at his jacket. His heart his pounding in his ears and he’s sure Sam can feel it, just as he can feel Sam’s thudding against him. So long since they’ve been like this, kissing and close and Dean was sure it would happen different, erupt during an argument or a post-hunt adrenaline surge, but he isn’t disappointed. He folds his arms around Sam, pushes against his back so Sam can’t possibly get any closer. Dean slides his fingers through all that new hair, kisses the messy top of it and finally watches the sky in earnest, unconcerned that it appears to be falling.


End file.
